Roses
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Because some holidays are worth remembering. Warnings for mild Valentine's fluff and a few 2x08 spoilers. Updated with Daryl's POV in chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

**It's officially Feb. 14th where I am, folks! And in the spirit of one of my favorite holidays, I offer a fic to wash down all that chocolate with!**

**Be advised that this story is set some time in the future and all assumptions are my own, and not based off of anything I've heard or read. Just having some Valentine's fun. **

**Enjoy; and review if you wish!**

**And of course: I disclaim everything. Except Alabama. I own the hell outta my homestate ;)**

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><p>The slight warmth of the day was a relief, the sun piercing the puffy white clouds and streaming across the lake water down the hillside.<p>

Carol blinked in the bright light and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the figure sitting by the dock.

Quickly glancing around, she first made note of the others in her presence:

Shane and Andrea could be seen on the other side of the lake, guns in hand, walking with such purpose that she knew they had to be scouting the area (for probably the third time that day, if she knew Shane well enough by this point)…

A light laugh sounded from her right. Up another small hill she could make out Lori and Carl heading toward the large building that served as their dining area, Rick not far behind, his teeth flashing at the tiny bundle of baby in his arms.

Carol smiled. She was glad they had made it this far; the child had been born in relative safety, and she wondered, for not the first time since they'd come to this place, if Rick and Daryl still thought it wise for them to eventually leave it.

Another light sound had her head turning back to the figure by the lake, and she breathed in the scent of the coming spring as she headed down the old concrete path towards it.

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><p>Rick had been unsure as to whether the men he'd confronted in the bar had been honest about the state of Fort Benning. Considering their shifty demeanor (and apparent willingness to kill and take with no remorse), it seemed agreeable to at least see for themselves whether the men had been weaving tales or offering friendly facts.<p>

Sadly, it had been the truth.

Carol remembered the caravan stopping several miles outside of Columbus, staring into the distance at what appeared to be a warzone; abandoned tanks stood silent outside the fort, military vehicles burned inside and out, turned on their sides, a medley of weapons and bodies lying about haphazardly, with not even a flock of blackbirds to pick at the old flesh.

Most of the prone bodies appeared to be of downed Walkers.

And _all _of the moving ones certainly were.

Scattered throughout the open fort and beyond, the dead roamed quietly, bumping into one another on occasion in their search for something living to tear into.

She remembered Daryl standing behind her, looking just over her shoulder through the binoculars Rick had handed him.

"Looks like your bar buddies were right; this ain't worth it."

She remembered Lori's hand shaking slightly as it rubbed over the just-sprouting bump on her belly…

Rick's eyes as they glanced at her, met Shane's permanent glare briefly, and finally settled into Daryl's own:

"Okay….we back up. Bypass this area. Let's keep heading west."

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><p>The soft sounds drifted up to her more clearly as she neared who she now recognized to be Glenn, sitting on the dock, guitar in hand.<p>

Fort Benning had been almost nine months ago.

At the onset of winter, they had been forced into a hard choice: Move westward, possibly north, and just keep moving, scavenging? Turn around and make a desperate bid to return to the farm? Or stop where they were; hold out through the cold to come?

The south was a harsh place in either season; summer suffocating, smothering and sometimes life threateningly so, the wintertime frigid- without snow mostly, but host to a deep-set biting cold and plenty of windy days to make it worse.

They had come to the most reasonable decision: find somewhere safe in Alabama, and hide away.

Lucky for them, the area they were in at the time this decision was made was almost perfect.

The old state park, small and unassuming, had been almost abandoned even before the world had ended. Carol recalled coming to the camp in her youth, on school field trips to learn of Native American folklore and search for arrowheads. She remembered the brown-bag lunches being eaten by the lake, the singing of old children's songs in the dining cabin. The place was much like the farm in its seclusion, surrounded by thick forest, far enough away from any decent-sized town and its likely dead-and-walking population. Fish were still ripe in the waters, deer dashed from the edges of the trees in the winter nights, and now, with spring emerging in mid-February, even the flower bushes planted by the old camp staff had begun to bloom once again.

Carol felt her lips pull upward and she smiled, both genuine and sad.

Sophia would have loved the place.

It was not without the occasional danger, of course: Vigil was still kept, scouting was still a must, and Walkers did roam nearby from time to time. Daryl had even killed a coyote that had come too close to the cabins for his liking.

But aside from the obvious never-ending perils, it was serene.

As Rick's laughing resounded again from far behind, she wondered if he would change his mindset about moving on in search of more security. The move would be long in coming, of course, with the newborn the top priority of the entire group; travel was practically a death sentence.

The dock met her feet and Carol made her way to where Glenn was situated.

They would not be leaving their new sanctuary anytime soon, she felt sure. They would not lose another child to the hell of the world beyond the trees.

Glenn's light strumming made her smile as she sat beside him. He stopped as she did so, a sheepish blush tinting his pale cheeks.

She almost wanted to pinch them.

"What are you playing?"

She did not recognize the tune he attempted, and knew nothing of either instruments or popular music (aside from a few more modern country tunes), and yet was not ashamed of the fact. She preferred the likes of old Hank Williams and his son, and was proud to proclaim it.

Glenn snorted a bit and grinned.

"Um…I don't really know. I was…trying to think of something original."

Carol noticed the youth's evaded eyes and glanced behind them at a cabin she knew to be the one Glenn shared with Maggie as well as Andrea and Shane.

She could not help but prod him in her good mood.

"Writing a love song?"

The flush on the boy's face deepened, confirming the unanswered question and likewise startling a realization into her.

Carol thought for a moment before nodding to herself with an amused grin.

It was February 13th. The eve of Valentine's Day.

The obviousness of Glenn and Maggie's relationship was real enough to all of them. The girl would not have left with them otherwise, for any reason.

She loved him. He loved her.

Carol was happy for the young couple. They were lucky to find each other in such an awful state of the world…

A loud thump sounded behind them and Carol turned her head to find Daryl hopping up onto the dock, striding down the length of it with a mission in his eyes, a fishing rod found in the recreation building gripped firmly in his hand. He glanced down at her briefly, not meeting her eyes but offering a small nod.

They had, for the most part, recovered from the distance Sophia's death had placed between them- and looking back, if she had known how far away the tragedy would have pushed him, she probably would have gotten up and gone to that burial service….if only to ensure the man did not turn her choice of grieving into a reason to all but move off the farm and avoid them all like the plague.

They had discussed it only a few times, and very little had been said. If she wanted to be honest with herself, any real conversations she'd had with Daryl had been few and far-between since they'd departed from Hershel's land.

Nevertheless, he was always nearby. Dale's beloved RV was still with them, set up in the middle of the campgrounds, and she still preferred to sleep in its small, cramped cabin bed as opposed to one of the large open spaces in the solid wooden buildings that surrounded them.

And every night, when Dale or Andrea would take over watch for Daryl, she would hear him come in, pull the pillow and blanket out from underneath the table, and spread out on the floor just in front of her.

And every night, provided lingering nightmares of the farm's tragic experience did not awake her in tears, she slept soundly with the knowledge that he was there.

Carol drew her eyes away from the man's back (or was she staring a little further down by now?) and refocused on Glenn, who sat nervously plucking at the strings of his instrument.

"I think it's very sweet that you want to keep this holiday alive for Maggie."

At this Glenn smiled, a hint of confidence and thoughtfulness filling his gaze as he set it on her.

"She'd seemed so sad when we did that little 'Thanksgiving' thing, and again at 'Christmas'…she missed her family, she said. Can't blame her…; I thought maybe giving her something tomorrow would make up for it somehow…"

Carol caught the sad tone in his voice and placed a hand at the neck of the guitar, daring to pluck one of the strings simply out of curiosity.

She did not miss Daryl's pause as he cast a line out, glancing over his shoulder at them and very possibly eavesdropping.

"I think it would help to remind her of a holiday that she can truly share with someone close to her. I always enjoyed Valentine's Day as a young girl, but most of my gifts consisted of brightly wrapped candies that were given to me by my mother. I remember getting flowers one year in high school from my first boyfriend…."

A second stiff pause from the fisherman on the dock had her trailing to study him before giving Glenn her undivided attention.

"I never received another Valentine after meeting and marrying Ed. I suppose I can't say I'm an expert on the holiday, but…I think writing Maggie a song is very original and sweet."

The Asian boy sat straighter at her words, but she caught the empathy in his eyes at her mention of Ed. She waved it off, moving to stand and glanced at Daryl one more time as she prepared to join Dale on the roof of the RV and do something useful (if only she could fish worth a darn…)…

"Maggie probably won't be in the dining house long. Can't ruin the surprise now can we?"

With that, she smiled at the startled look on Glenn's face as he refocused on the guitar and she wandered off the dock.

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><p>The birds seemed to sing louder on February 14th.<p>

Shaking her head to herself, Carol slid from the RV with plates in hand, lunchtime closing in and her own stomach reminding her in earnest.

She deliberately looked down the hill at the couple sitting on the dock, Glenn's guitar playing softly and the smile on his face visible even from her distance.

Entering the old building, she set the plates on one of the picnic tables and looked around, brow furrowing slightly at the lack of both people and food.

A figure cast itself behind her in the open doorway, and Carol turned to find Rick coming in with a few cans in hand.

"Startin' to run out of the canned stuff now; Daryl's out hunting. Apparently the fishing didn't go so well yesterday. I should've gone with him. It's like I have a baby and forget I know how to hunt…"

A small laugh escaped her at the man's residual daddy-joy. She had long since come to terms with Rick's place as the group's leader, and could no longer blame him for Sophia's fate. In the end, she knew, no one was to blame.

Life was life, and death was death.

It was better to live life smiling, if possible.

With a wink the former deputy departed, just as Daryl emerged in the sunlight and gestured to her.

"Deer are movin' on, not wantin' to move in the heat of the day. Killed a few squirrels…."

Taking his brief message as his beseeching to assist him with the cooking of said squirrels, Carol followed him quietly to one of the small fire pits they had set up, another table (because the old camp was practically a picnic-table _factory_) conveniently on standby for Daryl and Rick to gut and clean the little rodents.

Rick, however, paused ahead of them suddenly, turning to walk away back towards the RV with not a glance their way. She shrugged to herself and assumed that nature called.

Daryl was quick on his feet and she picked up her pace behind him. As he moved to recover the string of squirrels from the nearby tree he'd hung them on, Carol stopped short at what lay at the edge of the cleaning table.

Three roses, two pink and one yellow, hung slightly over the side, the colorful bulbs just barely struggling to open and spread.

Tentatively she reached for them, uncertain for a moment before looking up to find Daryl eyeing her in the midst of driving a knife into the chest of a squirrel.

"Oh...I found those growin' over by the old Welcome Center building."

Her hand landed on a stem, and she realized the thorns had been shorn off each one.

"Are…are these for me?"

She narrowed her gaze when he huffed at her a bit.

"They sure as hell ain't for Rick." She had to smile at him then, his humor a refreshing change from his usual gruff silence.

As she lifted the tiny bouquet to her nose, Daryl stopped his half-hearted work on the critter in his hands and watched her.

"Don't really know any stories about those…."

She snorted into the sweet-smelling blossoms-to-be, her grin faltering but not fading. His eyes were unwavering, but Carol could still see the nervous twitch his left one made, along with a hesitant quiver of his upper lip.

"So, uh….happy Valentine's Day or whatever."

Carol brought her hands together around the thornless stems, drawing the flowers close to her chest and wondering if he could see how her heart thudded in it.

Her teeth broke through her grin and she smiled fully at him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Daryl. Thank you."

She saw his mouth quirk as he ducked his head to stare back down into squirrel guts.

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><p><strong>So...yes. I wanted to give some happy to the current melancholy that is the Walking Dead fandom. Hope you guys enjoyed my attempt at Daryl fluff!<strong>

**Also: The state park I mention exists. I live about an hour south of it. It's actually a pretty good spot to survive in a post-apocalyptic hell.**

**Happy Valentine's Day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**At the request of my friend Alamo Girl, here is Daryl's POV of Valentine's Day in the survivor's camp. **

**I added some little things to move the story a bit, because I'm considering taking this little 'verse' and writing a side-fic or two with it. **

**Let me know how you guys feel; feedback is always appreciated!**

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><p>The collective laughter was new to him as it met his ears from across the camp.<p>

Daryl grimaced a bit upon walking out of the Recreational building, the sunlight bearing down hard and reminding him that another scorching summer would not be long in coming.

In the deep-south, there wasn't much of a 'springtime'. When it decided to started getting hot, it did it quickly, and aggressively.

But a cool breeze still blew, remnants of the fading winter, and he welcomed the comfort as he prepared to make an attempt at fishing.

He passed by the dining cabin, where Rick, his family, and Maggie all sat giggling like entertained children at the 'adorable' infant Lori was coddling to her chest. Not a few weeks old, the little girl already had a full head of dark hair, eerily reminiscent of Shane's.

Daryl was no fool. He knew the truth, just as everyone else did. And he, like everyone else, chose to ignore that truth.

The kid was Rick's to raise, and that point had been made clear to Shane long before it came popping out into the world.

Daryl spotted a blond head bobbing amongst the wood line across the lake as he neared, a black one not far behind, and he nodded to himself. The man was an asshole, that much was true, but he took surviving seriously, and Daryl appreciated that.

It was the _only_ thing he could bring himself to appreciate about the ex-cop.

The dock was but a few feet away when he actually took notice of the other two figures already perched on it.

Feet dangling near the water, Glenn sat gripping his precious guitar, trying desperately to make it play music. And beside him Carol sat, a strange glint in her eyes and a grin on her face as she spoke to the boy quietly.

As he stepped up onto the wood, he made straight for the end of the dock, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about.

Wasn't his business anyway.

But he could not help but give the woman a glance and nod as he passed her by.

She always had a way of making him pay her some kind of attention, even when she didn't want it.

He'd noticed that ever since Sophia's death; Carol did not seem to seek comfort from anyone, especially him. At first it ticked him off to no end, the idea of her shrugging off her daughter's death like she'd been expecting it, like it didn't even matter…

It was what had him strongly considering just leaving the dysfunctional band of fools altogether.

But he didn't, and for some time after the girl was buried, he did not know why.

It took him several months to admit to himself that he'd stuck around for her, and even longer still to come to terms with the fact that she _had_ been grieving for Sophia, but had done it on her own, in order to move past it in the only way she knew how: acceptance.

The fact that she never seemed to seek attention from him during that time had him thinking that she either resented him for giving her false hope, or just didn't give a damn about his existence at all.

That didn't stop him from continuing to sleep in the RV though, or from watching her close when she would wander around the campgrounds on her own.

She had eventually made it a point to tell him that she cared (not that he _needed_ that or anything); that she needed him nearby and was glad that he was still with them.

He hadn't known what to say.

He still didn't, months later.

And so, they'd fallen into some quiet routine of brief words and nods of acknowledgement, and he spent most of his time trying to keep food circulating in the group and bringing down whatever predator may steal its way into the area while pretending he wasn't glancing around to ensure her safety every two seconds.

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><p>As he stood there on the dock, poised to cast a line, he bit his lip and almost wanted to curse out loud over the strange power she seemed to have over him…<p>

The sound of the guitar had him glancing back at the two instinctively, watching as Carol plucked a string as if she had never touched an instrument before (and for all he knew, she hadn't…). He caught the soft smile on her face as she and Glenn continued to talk, and he cast the line into the water, intent on ignoring whatever conversation they had going on…

"I always enjoyed Valentine's Day as a young girl, but most of my gifts consisted of brightly wrapped candies that were given to me by my mother. I remember getting flowers one year in high school from my first boyfriend…."

His hand dipped down along with the rod and its tip almost landed n the water. Daryl felt his muscles stiffen at Carol's words, and he was torn between a laugh and a growl.

Valentine's Day? _Really?_

Daryl saw no point whatsoever in celebrating something so stupid even _before_ the world went to hell. Going around the damn campfire in November, talking about what they were still _thankful for_ was bad enough…

He'd leave the lovey-dovey holidays to Glenn and his farmgirl squeeze.

"I never received another Valentine after meeting and marrying Ed. I suppose I can't say I'm an expert on the holiday, but…I think writing Maggie a song is very original and sweet."

His back ached a bit and he realized that he was still standing rigid, the fishing pole all but slipping from his grip.

Even so, the sad tone Carol's voice had taken was not lost on him. It was heavy as a brick, and had him wishing it had been _his_ fortune to pound the pus out of Ed's face and not Shane's.

The fact that the woman still thought of Valentine's Day as something worth celebrating had his brain working overtime, trying to understand _why_…

By the end of the day, it would be her that he would blame for his not catching any fish.

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><p>He'd woken up to the same routine: Sit up, see if Carol was still in the bed above him, and if not, note her location and then proceed to find something to kill.<p>

He found her that morning holding 'Sophie' while Rick and Lori ate breakfast. She had thought it sweet of the couple to name the girl after Sophia…

Daryl chose not to think about it at all.

Forgoing breakfast, he gave Rick notice that he would scout the grounds before heading out to hunt for the day's lunch. As he slung the crossbow over his shoulder, he tried to forget how natural it had come to him to correspond with Rick on just about everything he did.

And how that fact really didn't bother him anymore.

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><p>He cursed under his breath at the lack of deer in the area. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as the sun at midday chased the cool morning away.<p>

It was possible the whitetails had finally moved on, away from the group of humans that refused to leave the area. But as another droplet of liquid salt broke out on his brow, he found it just as likely that they were being smarter than he, and choosing _not_ to move around in the heat.

The seventh squirrel met its end as it crawled down the trunk of a tree near the Welcome Center, and Daryl figured seven would be enough to feed the group, provided they still had enough canned shit left over from their time at the farm…

Tiny flashes of color caught the corner of his eyes as he bent to retrieve the bleeding rodent, a noticeable difference from the green, green and more _green_ of the pine trees that surrounded the park grounds.

Growing up against the side of the building just next to the tree, the rose bushes struggled to bloom as spring approached.

Daryl considered the three half-opened blossoms as he strung the last squirrel to the others, the gut-churning feeling he'd had the previous day on the dock threatening to return.

As the distant sound of a guitar met his ears, he groaned in self-defeat.

And whipped out his knife to cut the flowers from their vine.

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><p>The last thorn was removed from the stems and he all but tossed the roses onto the table as he moved to hang the squirrels on a tree limb.<p>

A whisper in his mind berated him for giving in to the senseless holiday, and for a moment he considered walking down to the lake and throwing them in before Carol could see them.

After all, what the hell would she care for the things anyway?

The last 'rose' he'd given her turned out to be a useless token; he suspected she would probably wish for just about a_nything_ else than a damned flower.

But he had nothing else to offer, and he was already making his way to the dining cabin to fetch her by the time the doubts began to set in.

Rick was moving out of his line of sight when he spotted her in the large room, a smile on her face and the remnants of a laugh in her voice. He didn't care what she and Rick had been joking about.

He just wanted to get her to the table and get the mushy-moment over with.

"Deer are movin' on; not wantin' to move in the heat of the day. Killed a few squirrels…"

At her small nod he turned and retraced his path, Rick already ahead and apparently planning on helping him skin and gut the day's kill.

Daryl chewed his lip and wondered what he could say to get him to go away instead...

He blinked as the man ahead of him suddenly veered off the path, heading instead for the RV. Rick's quick nod his way confirmed that he understood the need for privacy.

Daryl moved to nod back.

Until Rick winked at him before turning away.

His lip was stinging by the time they reached the fire pit, his teeth digging into it like needles.

The last time he'd been so nervous was on the highways toward Atlanta, as he and the others headed to fetch Merle off that rooftop.

He moved quickly and purposefully, turning all of his focus to the dead animals he was preparing to clean and trying with every desperate thought in his mind _not_ to ask Carol if she hated the roses, when he wasn't even sure if she'd seen them yet….

Except she had, and as he plunged the knife into the squirrel's chest and started to open it up, he swallowed the lump in his throat and shrugged at her.

"Oh…I found those growin' over by the old Welcome Center building."

He continued to watch her and pull open the carcass in his hands at the same time, and followed the movements of her fingers as they landed on the stems with hesitation.

"Are…are these for me?" He furrowed his brow then, and fought back a laugh.

"They sure as hell ain't for Rick." At her smile he relaxed, his muscles suddenly loosening and for the first time he thought about how that happened pretty damned often….

He watched as she brought them to her nose, inhaling the scents that women found so appealing and smiling even more as she did so.

"Don't really know any stories about those…" The smile faltered and Daryl immediately kicked himself for letting something so stupid come out of his mouth. Although it was the truth (for aside from…love or whatnot, he had no idea what those particular roses were supposed to mean), he knew mentioning anything relating to the Cherokee roses could have the woman tossing her gift to the ground and wandering off in renewed grief.

But she did not move, and continued to grin at him, and he felt himself want (way too badly) to grin back.

His eye twitched, he chewed his tongue a moment, and gripped the handle of the knife like it was a lifeline:

"So, uh…happy Valentine's Day or whatever."

Her grip on the flowers tightened at his words and her teeth emerged with the widening of her smile. Daryl felt the weight of his senseless anxiety wash away at the softness in her gaze.

_As if she fucking __**adored**__ him in that moment…_

"Happy Valentine's Day, Daryl. Thank you."

His lip jumped and he tore his eyes away from what he saw in her own.

The bloody mess below greeted him like an old friend and he decided _not_ to ask her just how many flowers her first boyfriend had given her in high school...

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><p><strong>I agree with Alamo Girl. Bashful!Daryl is a YES.<strong>


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